Fallen Rose
by MrsSalmalin
Summary: Years after the demise of the famed Phantom of the Opera, Christine reconnects with her old friends, and is greeted by ghosts from the past.
1. Chapter 1

Changy Mansion, Nantes

**Disclaimer: I do not own the characters, I have only borrowed them. Also, I have borrowed some of the libretto from Aida and the 1989 version of Phantom of the Opera with Robert Englund.**

**Changy Mansion, Nantes**

A soft, night breeze wafted through the open windows of the Vicompte and Vicomptess de Changy's house while they slept. From her place on the bed, the Vicomptess Christine de Changy—the former Christine Daae—sighed, and turned over onto her side. Christine was dreaming of her old life as a chorus girl at the Opera Populaire, so unlike her current life as wife to one of the wealthiest men in France. A life filled with parties, and fake laughter…

"Darling, did you order the flowers for the dinner tonight?" Raoul asked.

"Oh!" Christine gasped, "I completely forgot! Oh Raoul, I'm sorry! When I went to town yesterday I passed a music shop. It was filled with music, and violins, and organs… the flowers slipped right from my mind. I can go out to the garden and get some now if you'd like--"

"No, no, don't bother", Raoul shot her an annoyed look, "it's too late. He'll be here any moment!"

Suddenly, the door rang. Raoul gasped "He's here! Quick! Everyone out of the hall! Except Christine! Darling you stay here." and he pulled her next to him, "Smile! He's a very big political figure, this Monsieur Recoche, and we must show him every courtesy!" Standing next to Raoul, Christine sighed, and plastered a huge smile on her face. It didn't reach her eyes.

The maids scurried out of the way of the opening doors. Standing between the oaken doors was a very big man.

"HELLO!" he bellowed "I'm here! And I've brought my little wife! Josée! Say hello to these good people!" Out behind him stepped a dainty woman, no older than 17. In contrast to her husband, Madame Recoche was small, pale, fine-featured, and quiet, whereas her husband was large, red faced, puffy eyed, and loud. Putting his arm around her waist, and wrenching her towards him, M. Recoche yelled "Perhaps you and the Viscomptess will be friends, eh, _ma petite femme_?" Whimpering, Josée nodded and stayed silent.

Turning to Christine, Raoul said, "Darling, why don't you show Mme. Rechoche around the castle? M. Recoche and I have some very important business to discuss."

"But Raoul--", Christine protested.

"Christine…" Raoul said warningly, "kindly show Mme. Recoche around, I'm sure she'd _love_ to see those new drapes of yours… "

Giving Raoul one last glare, Christine exited the room with Josée; but not before hearing M. Recoche say "Women, eh? They're all alike! Prying into men's business…not their place, heh…not their place…" Christine then heard Raoul's uneasy bark of laughter echo the halls.

Yes, Christine got her sheltered life with Raoul, but was it worth it? Not being allowed to sing, for fear that it would bring back the ghost of so many years ago? Not allowed to go to Paris or the Opera in case it would open old wounds? Christine's mind and body went with Raoul that night, but did her soul?

After Christine's dream about the Opera House, she woke up and couldn't get back to sleep. Hoping she would become lulled by the soft breeze, Christine wandered onto the rooftop clad only in her nightdress and night coat.

Wrapping her coat around her slim frame, Christine went to the edge of the rooftop and looked out into the night.

"Why, Angel, why? Why did I leave you? You're my soul… " Christine whispered. "You're my music! _You alone can make my song take flight…_Oh Angel!" Christine blinked and felt the wet trickle of a tear roll down her face. "Angel, why? Why did I desert you? I need music! I need your help! Angel!" Christine continued her relentless monologue while she sank down onto the ground.

Wide-eyed and pale, she whispered into the wind,

_Angel of music_

_I denied you!_

_Turning from true beauty!_

_Angel my soul_

_Was weak forgive me_

_Enter at last, Master!_

Reduced to silent sobs, Christine closed her eyes and sighed. "Why can't I let go?"

"Christine? Christine are you here?" Raoul's voice carried through the wind.

"Yes, I'm here." She whispered. "What are you doing up?"

Coming to stand beside her Raoul said "I heard you wake up. And then I thought I heard singing…" Suddenly his face contorted with rage. "Were you singing? You promised Christine! You promised you would never sing!"

Christine looked at him tearfully. "Raoul, I can't _not_ sing. It's as much a part of me as my heart! I could _never_ give up singing! Never! Don't ask me to, please." She ended up talking in a whisper. "I couldn't bear it."

Raoul stared at her with hard eyes. "When you married me, you promised to stop singing. You promised to put all of _him_" he spat, "behind. Why can't you?"

Christine then stood up and faced him defiantly. "He was everything to me Raoul! He taught me how to sing! How to _live_! Because with him… I'm not just a woman. I'm an _angel_. His angel of music. And he's _my_ angel. Without music, I've couldn't live!"

Raoul grabbed her by the arm and towed her inside. "Well, I guess you'll just have to make do."

Back in bed, Christine turned onto her side with her back facing Raoul. Raoul then came in beside her and put a hand on her shoulder.

"Christine? Darling, don't be mad. I don't want to lose you." When Christine didn't respond Raoul gave her one last look and went to sleep.

Later that night, Raoul woke up to hear Christine whimpering and calling out "Angel…?" Finally her whimpering subsided and she fell once more into a remotely peaceful sleep. Raoul stared at her and whispered desperately "Why Christine? Why can't you love me? ".

In the morning, Christine awoke to find Raoul gone. She stood up, stretched, and looked at herself in the mirror. Her eyes sported heavy black bags under them, and her nightgown was rumpled. "_Sleeping beauty_" she thought wryly. It was just then that she saw the note on the desktop. She plucked it off the desk and frowned when she read it. It was from Raoul.

"Darling Christine,

I'm sorry for what had transpired last night. We were both tired and ill-mannered. We would not have said many of those things had we been well rested. Let us now forget all of that.

_Ma __cherie_, I shall be gone for a couple of days. I've gone to the capital on urgent business. Financial business, so you just leave that to me. Fear not, darling wife, it shall only be for a few days. Maybe if you're good I'll bring you back a little present.

Yours always,

Raoul"

Christine scrunched up her nose in disgust and thought mockingly "'_Maybe if you're good I'll bring you back a little present_'. _Ha. He _still_ thinks I'm Little Lotte, the girl with the red scarf. I've no need for useless 'little presents from the capital.' What would he bring me? A doll?" _Christine's lips formed a thin line. "_Why can't he realize I'm not the same innocent girl I used to be?! _I've _noticed he's not the same. He's…changed. _" Christine sighed, put the letter back down on the dresser, and walked over to the window. Suddenly a new realization swept over her. "_He's gone! I may do what I like, and he won't find out! I could sing, I could visit my father's grave, I could-_" Her train of thought paused. "I could visit _him_." She said wonderingly out loud. Then, from deep inside her mind came a nagging voice. "_He may not be alive. He may be dead, or something. Or in prison. Or…" _"Or he's alive!" She exclaimed. "_Yeah, but he won't want to see you! You _betrayed_ him!_" "ARGH!" She yelled, and stomped her foot.

Christine walked over to the window, and gazed out at the rolling countryside hills. In her minds eye she saw past the stone gates, and the miles and miles of farmland. She saw past all those hills, and saw Paris. She saw the Opera House, and an underground lair…

Turning on her heel, Christine fled to her wardrobe. Grabbing the closest dress to her, Christine yelled to her head maid, "Monette, I'm going to the capital!"

A couple suitcases later, Christine stepped into a coach, and closed the door. While she settled down for the long ride Christine sighed contentedly. "_Alone at last._"

The ride to Paris was an all day trip, so by the time Christine arrived in Paris, night had engulfed the city. Too weary to do little else, Christine went to the first hotel she found, and ordered for a hot bath and a meal. After she was pink from scrubbing, Christine put on her nightgown and slipped into bed.

**Cavalier's Inn, Paris**

The next morning, Christine awoke to find the sun shining through the open curtains. She got out of bed, and stretched before the window. Below her, Christine could see the cobbled streets of Paris, and the stone buildings.

Christine smiled wistfully down at the bustling road. She had missed the noisy life of the city. She had missed the merchants yelling out their wares, or the squalling infants, or the running children. This was where she had grown up; she was a city girl, born and bred.

Breathing in the putrid smell of city air, Christine sighed and turned around. Gazing around her room, Christine made up her mind to visit an old friend.

**Opéra Populaire, 235 Rue Scribe, Paris**

The cabby bounced along the cobbled streets and stopped at 235 Rue Scribe, the Paris Opera House. It hadn't changed much in 2 years, Christine noted as she stepped down from the cabby. It had been rebuilt, but they had used the exact same plans as the old Opera Populaire.

As the cabby drove away, Christine was left standing in front of the steps leading up to the front doors of the Opera.

Steeling herself, Christine slowly made her way up the steps, and went through the grand doors. Christine gasped. It was the exact same as before! The lush, red velvet carpets, the gilded walls, the gold-leafed statuettes... it was all the same. Running her hand along the smooth banister, Christine made her way up the grand staircase. She turned left and found herself in an empty hallway. Suddenly, she heard footsteps behind her. Turning quickly, Christine realized it was a girl from the ballet corps.

"May I help you, Mademoiselle?" She asked.

"Yes," Christine replied, "I was wondering if Mme. Giry is still employed here. I would like very much to talk with her. "

The ballerina nodded anxiously. "She still resides here. She's no longer the ballet mistress, but the managers allow her to live here still, as a thank you for services rendered." Then the girl's voice dropped to a whisper. "It's said in the dormitories that it was _she_ who told the Viscompte de Changy how to find the old Opera Ghost." The ballet rat looked up at Christine expectantly. "You _do_ know who the Opera Ghost was, don't you?"

Christine lowered her eyelashes and looked at her feet. "Yes. I know him."

The ballet rat led Christine to some of the lesser used hallways of the Opera House. Christine recognized some of them from her time as a chorus girl. Eventually Christine found herself staring at the door marked 'Giry'.

"Mademoiselle?" The girl tugged on Christine's sleeve. "Would you like me to introduce you to her?"

"No," she replied. "I don't think any introductions shall be necessary. Thank you for helping me. But I'd like to be alone with the Madame now, thank you." Christine watched the girl nod her head, and skip away off to practice.

Christine turned to face the door. Locking her eyes on the doorknob, she knocked twice, and waited for an answer. When she heard an irritated voice call out, "_Oui_? Who is it?" Christine opened the door without another word.

Christine stepped into the room, and looked for Madame Giry.

"_Ma cherie_? _C'est vraiment toi?_ " Said a voice from the corner of the room.

Christine smiled happily. "_Oui, Madame. C'est moi. Petite Christine_. I've come looking for someone." Christine crossed the room, and took the old woman into her arms. "I'm looking for an old…friend if mine." Christine looked down at her toes. "I'm looking for my Angel. Does he live?"

Christine heard a sharp intake of breath. "_Oui_, _ma cherie._ He lives. But I advise you not to see him. It would not be a happy reunion." Christine drew back from the embrace and looked at Mme. Giry despairingly. Mme. Giry was tall, stern looking, and yet pretty in a haughty kind of way. Her brown hair turning grey was pulled back into a tight bun, and her clothes consisted of a simple dress. Her piercing grey eyes stared down at Christine.

"Is he angry? Sad? Happy? _Madame_, I must know. I _know_ I made wrong choice when I went with Raoul, and I can't change that anymore. But I _must_ see him again. Raoul's making me give up singing! _Madame_, how could a man who says he loves me make me give up my passion? Singing is my _life_, and my Angel is the only one who respects that."

Madame Giry looked at her frankly. "Christine, what do you want to happen?" She spoke softly. "Do you want him to take you back? Do you want to mock him, and show him your wedding ring? He won't be happy to see you, is all I can say. I think it better if you left him alone. He's suffered enough."

"_He's_ suffered?! I know I rejected him, but what about _me_! I'm probably just as sad and mad at myself as he is! I _must_ see him _Madame_, please! Take me to him!" Christine looked pleadingly at her.

Mme. Giry huffed. "Very well. Follow me."

Mme. Giry led her to the Opera's little chapel. It was the same chapel the Christine used to visit to pray for her father. Mme. Giry stopped by a sculpture of an angel, and turned to Christine. "We must push this over to the side. Help me please." Together, the two women pushed the angel sculpture to the side, to reveal a dark staircase. Mme. Giry took a candle from the altar, and motioned for Christine to follow her quietly. She led the way down the stairs until they reached the bottom.

"This opens up to a hall. If you take the second door on the left, you will end up by the edge of the lake, at his home. If you go through the fifth door on the right, you will end up near your old dressing room. You may choose your path, but now, I must leave you. _Bonne chance_, _ma cherie_! " Giving Christine the candle, the former ballet mistress disappeared back up the stairs.

Christine made her way down to the hall. As she reached the hall, Christine stopped walking and looked at the doors lining the sides. Turning her head, she looked at the fifth door on the right. _"I could go back now. I could save both of us a lot of pain."_ But she didn't. Christine lifted her chin up, and opened the second door on the left.

Christine nearly fainted at the sight. She was on the edge of the lake, near his organ. What once used to be his pride, his home, was now in shambles. His music was littered everywhere, and all the candles were turned over. His mirrors were cracked, and his instruments were beyond repair. Christine let out a moan, and collapsed on the steps.

It was ruined! Everything good in his life was ruined! All her fault….Christine cried silently. "Oh Angel, I'm sorry.. I'm _ever_ so sorry…"

Suddenly, she heard a voice and looked around wildly.

"_Why have you come?_

_For fear or pity?_

_Or have you come_

_For true love?"_

Christine gasped and struggled to sit up.

"_Angel or man_

_Friend or Phantom?_

_Who is it there hiding?"_

The voice harmonised with hers,

"_You have forgotten your Angel_"

Christine stood up and walked around his lair.

"_Angel, I wish_

_Would you forgive me?_

_Mercy on me_

_Angel!"_

The voice got softer.

"_Why have you come here, my Angel?_

_Is it for fear or pity?"_

Christine clasped her hands to her chest, and looked into the only mirror that wasn't cracked.

"_Now as we sing here together_

_Our souls become one!"_

Faintly, Christine could make out a dark shape behind her in the mirror. Peering closer, she heard the voice—_his _voice—swell with anger.

"_Prying Pandora,_

_You betrayed me_

_Turning from your _

_True love!_

_Lying Delilah_

_You deceived me_

_Why have you come?_

_Christine!"_

Eyes brimming with tears, Christine sang out desperately,

"_Angel, my soul_

_Was broke in two_

_I come to ask_

_Forgiveness!_

_And if you grant me_

_That one wish,_

_Give to me now_

_Your love!"_

Christine opened her eyes wide as a shape emerged from the shadows. "Angel?" "I am no angel, Christine." He replied. "I am but a man. Not even. I am a broken shell, with a broken heart."

Christine stepped towards him. "Angel." She looked down. "You are more than a broken shell. You are a genius, a magician, a composer, a musician, and my Angel. You are far from being a broken shell. " Christine looked up. "I came here not to spill foul words. I came here to ask forgiveness."

As he stepped into the light, Christine's stomach did a flip-flop. She had forgotten what he looked like. He was tall, dark, intense, and imposing. His electric blue eyes pierced through the darkness better than any light, and night time cloaked him like a cape. He carried with him an air of confidence, and mystery. In contrast to his dark outfit, he bore a white porcelain mask that covered half his face. The Opera Ghost was back.

"Forgiveness?" He spat. "You've come for forgiveness? Why? Why would you want forgiveness from a monster? Go back to your prince charming, _Christine_, and leave to wallow by myself."

"You are not a monster." Singing softly, Christine stared at everything and nothing.

"_Angel of Music!_

_I denied you_

_Turning from true beauty!_

_Angel of music, hide no longer_

_Grant to me your glory!"_

"Christine." Something in his voice made her look up, and her chest tightened. He looked down at her with pleading eyes. "Christine, please…go! It was hard enough to leave you before, why must you make it harder?" The pain in his voice was obvious. "Go back to your Vicompte. Share with him your lifetime, and leave your Angel." He turned away from her. "Your Angel is no more."

Christine put her hand on his shoulder briefly. "If I go, will you tell me your name? All Angels have names."

"Dear, sweet, _naïve_ Christine. I am not the Angel you have always thought I was!"

"Your name, Angel." She spoke evenly, "Then I shall leave, if that is your wish."

He sighed and ran a hand through his midnight black hair. "I am Erik." And with a swirl of his cape, he disappeared into the shadows once more.

Christine exited his home, and soon found herself in the small chapel. She knelt before the altar, and lit a candle. Clasping her hands together in hope, Christine whispered a fervent prayer. "Father, help me. You have sent me my Angel of Music, and I turned him down. Now he is gone, and I am alone again. Father, be merciful on him, and comfort him. For I cannot." A tear rolled down her cheek. "He won't let me."

Unbeknownst to her, a dark shape with staring blue eyes watched her carefully through the mirror.

The next day, Christine bought a ticket to the new opera, _Faust_. It was a new Opera, and the tickets were for the opening night. Christine was nervous. This was her first public appearance at the Opera since her….disruption two years back. Now, two years later, she wondered if anyone would remember her.

As she seated herself in the audience, Christine sighed and leaned back. For now, she would enjoy the show.

The opera opened to a stage of darkly coloured streamers and costumes. Then, the singing began. Christine winced. Apparently Carlotta had forgiven M. Andre and M. Firmin, and was once again their diva. While the star continued her shrieking, Christine mulled over her long-awaited meeting with the Phantom. '_No_', she thought. '_Erik._'

Somewhere in the second act, Christine heard a gasp rise up from the crowd. Snapping her head up, her eyes widened as she noticed a shower of toads fall onto the head of Carlotta. Croaking toads. Suddenly, the loud voice came out of nowhere and pierced the din.

"Did I not instruct that this _thing_ you call a diva was not to perform? Carlotta… you seek to be known by _all _Paris. Well…you are now known to the Opera Ghost! Be prepared for more misfortunes should you not comply with my demands. " And as quickly as it came, the presence disappeared. Gone was the spell that had held captive the audience. They now stood up in their chairs and demanded to know what was going on.

In the confusion and chaos around her, Christine managed to slip away unnoticed to the rooftop. She climbed the many stairs, and soon found herself staring over the side of the rooftop.

"Careful." A shape emerged from the shadows. "_Keep away from the edge…_" The voice called out mockingly. "We wouldn't want you to fall, now would we?"

Christine walked up to the shape as it became visible in the moonlight. "Oh Erik…why did you do that? Haven't you learnt that murder and trickery is not the way to live?"

"And what other option have I?" he snapped. "I could go back to wallowing in self pity and hanging onto old memories, but to what end? Your Angel died the night he was betrayed. And a new Opera Ghost was reborn. One who will not allow wilful children worm their way into his heart."

Christine talked softly. "Must it be so hard? You needn't plunder _or_ become reclusive. You could go out in the world, and be someone! Maybe not in the city, but in the country, away from everyone…" Her voice trailed off. "You don't deserve to live like this. _No one_ does."

Erik retreated back into the shadows. "You are playing with fire, _Madame_, and I refuse to be the one burnt again."

As Christine felt his presence begin to fade, she cried out desperately,

"_Pitiful creature of darkness_

_What kind of life have you known?_

_God give me courage to show you_

_You are not alone!_"

Christine cried out hysterically. "You _promised_ you would _never_ leave me; you said you would _always_ be there to guide me, to protect me. I did not give up on you, even when I thought you _dead_. Yet I stand before you begging for your forgiveness, and you have given up this easily on your promise? I gave you my _soul_, and I haven't got it back. Tell me…tell me, Erik, that you want me to leave, and never see me again. Look at me in the eye, and tell me. Give me my soul back, if you do not want it." Christine lifted her chin up, and looked around wildly. "Tell me." She waited, and waited for Erik to come and tell her to leave. With baited breath, she stood motionless waiting to be dismissed. The dismissal did not come.

Despairing, Christine cradled her head in her hands and wept. Then softly, gently, she could hear a distant sound. It was the sweet sound of a violin! Faintly, she could recognize what piece it was. It was "Angel of Music". Then, ever so softly she heard singing.

"_Wandering child,_

_So lost, so helpless._

_Yearning for my guidance._"

Christine replied wonderingly,

"_Angel, I hear you,_

_Speak, I listen_

_Stay by my side, guide me!_"

Erik replied with a smile in his voice.

"Y_ou have remembered your angel!_"

Christine sang pleadingly.

"_Angel, oh speak!_

_What endless warnings,_

_Echo in this whisper?_"

His song continued.

"_Too long you've wandered without me_

_Alone, your song has faded_"

Christine answered passionately.

"_Wildly my mind beats against you,_

_Yet my soul obeys!"_

Their voices swelled in ecstasy and harmonised in perfect song.

"_Angel of Music_

_I/You denied you/me_

_Turning from true beauty!"_

"_Angel of Music_

_Do not shun me/My protector_

_Come to me strange Angel!_"

"Oh Angel!" Christine breathed. "Do you forgive me?" A gloved hand reached out to cup her face.

"I forgive you."

Later that night when they had parted, Christine walked back down to the chapel. She knelt in front of the candles, and lit one. And there she remained, silent, until she looked up at the sculpted angel, sat back on her heels, and said, "Thank you Papa!"

The next morning Christine woke up from her slumber and yawned. Already the sun had started to come up, and Parisians were already going out for their Sunday strolls. Christine stood up and put on a green satin dress and her opera gloves, and headed outside to visit the Bois.


	2. Chapter 2

The Bois

**The Bois**

Christine walked over to one of the sunniest benches, and sat down. Not caring about her porcelain skin complexion, she turned her face skywards, and let the sun wash over her face. She closed her eyes, and breathed in deeply. Today was going to be a good day.

A few moments later, Christine heard a familiar voice cry out in disbelief, and opened her eyes sharply. Near the lake not 10 metres away from her, was Raoul. Noticing who it was, Christine scrambled to her feet and opened her mouth to excuse her presence in Paris.

But Raoul wouldn't let her talk. Striding over to meet her, he looked around furtively, grabbed her arm, and towed her into a more secluded spot.

"Christine! _What_ in God's name are you doing here? Monette told me you were visiting Meg in Reims! She _lied_ to me? Well! I'll take care of _that_ when I get home! You on the other hand, must have told her to lie! What are you doing in Paris?" He was breathing heavily now. Suddenly, he looked down at her hands, and at her opera gloves and reason dawned upon him his pace paled visibly. "You didn't go to the _Opera_ House, did you?" When Christine stayed silent he exploded once more, "You went to see _HIM_!! You went to see your _Phantom_!" He spat. "I told you _never_ to see him again! You disobeyed me! You promised! You _promised_!"

Christine looked up at him with teary eyes and sang sadly.

"_Anywhere you go  
let me go too . . .  
Love me -  
that's all I ask  
of you . ."_

She took hold of his left hand and touched his wedding band. "You promised too."

"_Christine, Christine._" He sang.

Her voice grew hysterical, "No Raoul! We_ tried _to make it the same, like when we were children, but Raoul! It can _never_ be the same! We have gone through too much! Young, _naïve_ Christine is the one you think you love. But I'm not her! I'm older; I've seen the bitterness of the world, and what it can do to strong people! It is not kind! Raoul, you don't _need_ me. I need someone who _needs_ me! Raoul, you need a young pretty wife who's charming, and has a dowry and land to your name. You don't _need_ a simple chorus girl who believes in silly fairytales, you need a _Viscomptess!_" She dropped her voice to a whisper. "Please. Let me go, and find yourself a better wife. You deserve it."

"But Christine, I don't _want_ another wife, I want _you!_"

"But I'm already taken Raoul. Can't you see that? From the first note he sang to me when I was seven, I was his—and only his! I can _never_ be yours! Please Raoul," she pleaded, "let me go to him."

"Not after all I've done! You're mine, and only mine! _I_ won you, not him! If I have to chain you to a chair, and lock the door so you can't go to him then by God I'll do so! I haven't wasted two years of my life for _nothing_ you know, I won't give you up! Not now! You made your choice in the basements, now live up to it! I haven't asked much from you, I understood that you were still shaken up, but this is too far!"

"Raoul, _please_!"

He grabbed her arm again, and started pushing her towards the exit gates, "No, _darling_! Come now, let's go home…"

Christine struggled and cried, "My home is _not_ with you! It's with Erik!"

"Oho! It has a _name_ now, does it? Well, I guess if he loved you enough he would be here right now, to win you back, eh, _madam_? Where is your black knight? Probably scuttling around in his cellar like the spider he is!"

Suddenly, a voice surrounded them with an awesome power. "A spider? Even a spider has the right to mate…And I believe the lady wishes for you to leave her."

Raoul grinned maniacally. "Erik, is it? Glad to meet you once more! Now, if you don't mind, my _wife_ and I will be going home now…."

Erik's voice replied evenly. "Shall I repeat myself? I believe the lady wishes for you to leave her _alone_."

"She is my wife; I have every right to bring her home!"

"Yes, but does she wear your ring?"

"Of course she does!" Raoul yelled laughingly. "Of course she does! Look!" And he held up her left hand. He looked at it, and howled. He brought it close to his face, and saw no ring! "Where is it, monster? Where is the ring?!"

"Ah, well see that's a bit of a problem now, isn't it? You see, by now I should think it's at the bottom of the Seine…But look! I see another ring! On a necklace! Wonderful place to put a ring for safe keeping, don't you think? Well, at least until the wedding of course…It's rather marvellous ring, eh boy? Blue, and lustrous…a big sapphire in the middle, and little ones all around! No, that's not _your _ring, is it, _monsieur_? Yes, I thought not! It's _my_ ring! It's _my_ ring she wears on her neck, not yours! I've told you, _boy,_ and I'll tell you again! Don Juan triumphs!" And he started laughing.

"_You!_" Raoul accused Christine. "You _wench_! How dare you wear another's ring! You're my wife! _Mine_! Give me that ring; give it to me _now_!" But as he went to rip it off her neck, he was silenced by the towering figure behind her.

"I think, _monsieur_, it is time for a time out." And a Punjab lasso sliced through the air to Raoul's neck. Raoul's eyes widened in recognition, and he started clawing at the lasso.

"You remember what it feels like, boy? Well, just like before you shall be in my mercy. Yes… feels good, doesn't it? But once again– as there's a lady present– I won't kill you. This time,_ I _shall be running away with Christine, not you. _Keep your hand at the level of your eyes_ Changy, because next time Christine won't be here to save you. " And with that, he jerked the lasso so that Raoul passed out, and tugged Christine back into the shadows with him.

Back in his lair, Erik led Christine to the only intact room. The Louis- Philippe room with her swan bed.

"Oh Erik…You've kept this room all this time? Why?" Christine asked.

"Christine…" Erik replied sadly. "When you left…All I wanted to do was wreck all that I had created in my home. I wrecked my room, my music, my organ that I spent months making…I ruined it all! Because of anger! And yet, the only place I could not destroy was this room. This room… and this room only, has been dusted and cleaned and kept. I never knew why though. I thought you had left me for good. " Erik shook his head.

Christine bit her lip and looked around the room. "Me too."

When Christine had settled in her room for a nap, Erik sat down at his new organ and began composing. His new opera, Song of a Beast, would be his most inspiring opera yet…

"_My heart foreseeing your condemnation,_

_Into this tomb I made my way by stealth..."_

It was days until Erik and Christine had their first singing lesson in a long time. They were singing music from his original composition, Song of a Beast.

"_And here, far from every human gaze_

_In your arms I wished to die..._"

"No!" Erik yelled in vexation. He stood up so quickly from his seat at the organ that the bench fell over. "_Longing_ Christine! That is what Amelia is feeling! You must put the longing into your voice! You _must_ be able to do that! Once more!" He started from the beginning. As she started to sing, he pounded his fists on the keys and growled. "Your posture Christine! Where has it gone? You are slouching! You must keep your diaphragm straight, or you will not be able to reach your full potential! You cannot reach a high C with so little breath! Your whistle register will wilt under such carelessness! Breathe! With your stomach! Yes! _Good_! Now...sing!" And with that said, he sat back down on the bench and began playing from her entrance.

"_My heart foreseeing your condemnation,_

_Into this tomb I made my way by stealth..."_

Losing himself in the music, Erik swayed from side to side in a trance, nodding his head when she reached the low notes, and holding his breath on the high notes.

"_And here, far from every human gaze_

_In your arms I wished…_"

Emboldened by Erik's reaction to her singing, Christine daringly started to sing a few lines from his unfinished opera, Don Juan Triumphant.

"_Your eyes see but my shadow_

_My heart is overflowing_

_There's so much you could come to love_

_Tenderly, you can see my soul!"_

Suddenly, a loud discordant sound erupted from the organ. Christine turned to look at Erik. He was slumped over the organ, his head resting on the keys.

"Oh Erik! Why've you stopped? Was it the song? Was my breathing incorrect? Were the high notes off-key?" Christine was puzzled. She sounded alright…

He looked up at her. Erik was breathing harshly, and his eyes turned an emerald green. "No, _mon ange_…that song…You were perfect. And it scares me."

"Why ever would it scare you? Isn't that good? It is good that I'm improving, is it not?"

"Oh Christine…It's wonderful! And yet saddening. I have nothing left to teach you! There is no more reason for you to stay with me…"

"Oh Erik…" She laid a hand on his arm. "There is much you can teach me! I haven't learnt the rest of your opera, and I would very much love to do so. And you could teach me how to play an instrument! What lovely instruments you use to have…a violin, an organ, a spinet…And what about cleaning! I can help you clean up! This place is a dreadful place right now; there's no light, and everything's a mess! I'll help you clean!" Excited with the new possibilities, Christine jumped up from behind him and pattered around, stacking music together, and putting inkpots away. Suddenly, a thin hand came into her view and pulled the inkpot away gently.

"Go rest," Erik soothed. "We'll continue the lesson tomorrow."

Once inside her room, Christine changed out of her corset and dress, and donned a nightgown. She could faintly hear Erik shuffling around, trying not to disturb her. _'What a kind soul he is. To others he may be cruel, but when he likes you, he won't ever leave.' _And she smiled. He liked her.

Outside, Christine could hear the calls of drunken men, and the clatter of coaches bringing everyone home. She sighed wistfully. If she stayed down here and married Erik she would probably never talk to anyone outside of his lair. '_Oh well. Erik's worth it._' Then, as clear as the bells of Notre Dame, Christine could hear the angry shouts and splashes of men crossing the underground lake to the lair. Wild-eyed and frightened, Christine wrenched open her bedroom door, and ran into Erik's room to find him looking for his sword.

"Erik! Don't! You can't possibly fight them all and win! What will I do if you're dead? Erik, please! Let's escape! We've done it before; we'll do it again!" Christine stood in front of him. "Please…let's run…"

"I'm sorry Christine." Erik said. "I have run all my life, and finally I have found something worth fighting for."

Christine looked puzzled. "What have you found Erik?"

"You." With that said, he grabbed his sword, and jumped out to the shore of his lake.

Christine could hear the mob thrashing through the water; coming closer, and closer. With one last effort Christine yelled, "Erik! Let's leave! Leave before they find us, and kill us!"

"No Christine. I won't run anymore." And with that, he jumped into the lake and started fending off the mob. Suddenly, five men swelled around him, and Erik could no longer hold them off.

"Christine!" He yelled above the din. "Find the switch next to the fireplace! It will set off the gunpowder. Then run!"

Christine ran to up the stairs, past the organ, and into Erik's room to the fireplace.

"Christine! No!" It was Raoul. He had managed to escape the battle, and was fighting his way towards Christine. "Christine, if you flip that switch, you will kill us all!" Christine paused in front of the fireplace.

"No!" Erik shouted. "Christine! As long as you run as soon as you flip the switch you'll be fine! There's a delay on the cord! Flip it and RUN!" Christine looked torn. Saddened, she looked unto Raoul and said, "Raoul. Please leave now. You may not be able to get out, so please! Leave us! Take your men and leave! There is no need for anyone to die. Not now, not ever."And she turned to the fireplace.

As she was searching along the metal grating she heard a voice yell, "The missus's going to burn t'place to the ground! Run fer ya lives!" Hearing their friend, the mob drop their clubs, and pitchforks, and swords down and ran. Out of the house beyond the lake, out behind the portcullis, and out beyond the lake.

In hope of distracting Christine, he stabbed at Erik. Erik parried his attack effortlessly, and reposted. After a series of attacks, counterattacks and reprises, Erik found an opening in Raoul's enguard, and thrust. Raoul fell down hard onto the ground, clutching his belly. "Monster!" he yelled.

Not to be distracted from the task at hand, Christine's hand grazed over the switch. Shrieking to Raoul, "Run!" she ran to Erik.

"Erik! Come we must go! The whole opera house is going to be blown to the ground. We must leave now or we'll die!" Heaving himself up from the lake, Erik let his sword fall to the ground, and grabbed Christine's hand. "There's an escape route behind the mirrors. Grab a candelabrum and smash the mirrors. Quickly!"

Scrabbling for the candelabrum, Christine looked regretfully at the mirror, and smashed it. Seeing no passage behind the broken shards, she moved onto the next one. Beside her, Erik did the same until at last he yelled out in happiness. "Here it is!" Giving the mirror one last blow, it shattered into a million pieces, and revealed a passageway behind it.

"Come on!" Erik jerked Christine through the corridor, and saw Raoul on the ground. Christine seeing where Erik looked, cried out, "Erik! We can't leave him! He'll die!"

"Christine, if we don't leave, we'll _all_ die! It's his fault…_Mon ange_, we _must_ leave!"

"Erik! Please! All he did was out of love for me! He can't die! Please! Don't do it for him, do it for me! For me!"

Growling, Erik pushed Christine through the mirror, and blocked her entrance into his lair. "Run! Run now and I might save him! But you must be safe first!" Christine glanced furtively over Erik's shoulder, turned on her heel and ran.

Seeing that Christine was running, Erik ran after her to ensure her safety. They ran for a minute down the passageway until they reached the fresh air. Gasping, Christine turned around and saw that the opera house was burning. Already the explosions started fires on the upper levels, and we working their way down to the sublevels.

"ERIK!" Christine yelled over the din. "Go back now, and save him! He doesn't deserve to die like this!" Seeing that nothing would dissuade her, Erik kissed her roughly once before he dashed into the burning opera house. With nothing to do but sit and wait for their safe return, Christine sat down on the curb, and prayed.

Down in the basements, Erik emerged from the secret corridor to be welcomed by the sound of multiple explosions. Searching his lair frantically for Raoul, Erik heard a dissonant sound and turned sharply to his organ. Erik spotted Raoul leaning against his organ for support. Evidently, he had tried to crawl his way through the passageway, but his wound was too painful.

Without any other thought in his head, Erik rushed to Raoul and threw him over his shoulder. Lacking the strength to protest, Raoul kept silent and rested limply against Erik's shoulder.

Before rushing off into the passageway, Erik allowed himself a single tear and a fleeting look of his only home before he limped his way past the broken mirror. Hearing the explosions grow louder, Erik sprinted as quickly as one could with a full grown man on his back through the corridor. As he emerged into the twilight, the last explosion could be heard from inside his lair. Nothing would ever be able to be salvaged.

Upon seeing Erik and Raoul, a look of relief swept across her face, and was replaced by a look of worry. Christine saw the state of the two men, and started yelling, "Doctor! We need a doctor!"

Minutes later, a squadron of_ gendarmes _ran from around the corner, and surrounded the trio.

"_Madam_, please step away from the man." As the captain was speaking, the other _gendarmes_ pointed their muskets at Erik. "He is the Opera Ghost."

"No!" Christine cried. "He was, but not anymore! He just saved a man's _life_, please!"

Shaking his head, the captain stood in front of Erik and pulled out handcuffs.

"_Monsieur le Fantome, _you are charged with the murders of Joseph Buquet, and Ubaldo Piangi. You are also charged with blackmailing the managers of the Opera Populaire, and arson. You have the right to remain silent until the right authorities can be summoned. Please turn around and put your hands behind your back" He handcuffed Erik, and started to pull him away to an awaiting police car. Before entering the car, Erik turned around and looked at Christine.

Seeing her with tears streaming down her face, Erik's face turned white.

"_Mon ange_…I won't fight. I won't run. I have run all my life, and it's time I stop. I knew this would happen someday, it comes with masquerading as the undead. I had just prayed it wouldn't be today. Not when we are finally at peace." He glanced at Raoul. "_Monsieur_, if I die in prison, I would like to know that you will take care of my Christine. I would like all her needs attended to. And she must be allowed to sing. And _Monsieur_… you were a worthy opponent. "With that, he turned back to Christine and rewarded her with a rare smile.

"_Say you'll share with me _

_One love, one lifetime,_

_Lead me, save me _

_From my solitude_

_Say you want me with you here_

_Beside you,_

_Anywhere you go, let me go too,_

_Christine, that's all I asked of you!"_

"Until we meet again, _mon ange de musique._" And he stepped into the car.

With little else to do but go home, Christine returned to her room at the inn. Stumbling like a drunkard, Christine slipped into bed fully clothed. She pulled the duvet up to her chin and closed her eyes. In the middle of the night, Christine awoke from a bad dream. Unable to sleep, Christine got out of bed, shook her rumpled clothes, and headed downstairs. As she wandered around the streets of Paris, she wrapped her arms around herself and hiccupped.

In desperation to find Erik, Christine walked down to the _Champs d'Éllysées_ to find a cab. When she finally found a taxi, Christine instructed the cabdriver to drive to the police station. Nodding his acquiescence, the cabdriver snapped the reins and put the horse into motion.

At long last, they reached the police station and Christine disembarked from the cab. She paid him 10 francs and walked into the station. She looked around. All around her, Christine could see hallways, hear the cries of doomed men, and smell the distasteful smell of rotting flesh. The station was made of cold stone, and so Christine stood and shivered.

She took a deep breath, and turned to the _gendarme _at the desk "_Excusez moi, Monsieur_," she asked, "I am looking for a friend of mine, Erik, I think he was brought here yesterday."

"_Oui Mademoiselle._" Christine noticed his title for her. "What does he look like?"

Christine moistened her lips and replied, "Ummm…he's tall, has black hair and blue eyes, and-" Christine cast her eyes downwards, ashamed, "and he has a malformed face."

"_Ah_, _oui_ _Mademoiselle!_" the _gendarme _cried. "_Le fantôme de l'Opéra! _Why didn't you say so?" Taking a torch, the _gendarme_ led Christine through a hallway, past iron cells and locked doors to the very last cell.

"_Voila!_ _Ton fantôme est ici!_ You are allowed 5 minutes, _Mademoiselle_."

As soon as he walked away, Christine stood on her tiptoes and pressed her face against the metal grate in the door and peered inside the cell. She almost cried. All her life, Christine had known Erik to be mysterious, and impeccable with not a hair out of place. Seeing him on a cold prison bench in rags, no mask, and his hands clasped together in prayer, made Christine wish it was not she who had driven him to this state. All his defences were gone, all the illusions and pretences, until he was only a depraved man.

Steeling herself, Christine whispered, "Erik?"

Erik jerked his head up, and his eyes grew wide with shock. "Christine?" he whispered disbelievingly. He sat up, strode to the door, and stuck out his hand to touch Christine face.

"_Oh mon Dieu, _it is you, _mon ange! _My darling Christine, don't cry! I am at peace here."

"Oh Erik! I want to pay for your release! I would give everything I own to see you playing your music once more!"

"_Mon ange,_ money will not help. I am told that I must stand trial and be exonerated, or death!"

Christine breathed in sharply, "Trial? _Death_? _Oh mon Dieu!_"

"No don't cry. I'll be fine, don't worry about me. I'm more concerned about you! Where will you go? What will you do?" Suddenly, a feverish light shone in his eyes, and Erik spoke quickly, "Christine this is what I want you to do. I want you to go to _La Banque_ in _La Place de la Concorde_ and say your name is Madame Destler. Say you were married in secret. They will ask you for the number of my bank box, 57, and you will tell them. Then they will ask for a pass code, 4931, Christine, repeat that for me, 4931. Get EVERYTHING out of the box for me. Keep it all to yourself and don't let ANYONE take it away from you. Find some shelter and food. Christine, the contents of my box are rightfully yours. If I die it states in my will, which is in the bank, that I leave you everything."

"Erik! When did you make your will?"

"Five years ago."

"Oh Erik…what's in the box?"

"_Mon ange_, there's not enough time. Tell me, where is the bank?"

"_La Place de la Concorde_ "

"And what's the box number?"

"57. Erik-"

"Shhh, no time. And the password?"

"4931."

"Good girl. As soon as you leave I want you go to the bank, alright? Promise me you'll go, _mon ange_!"

"I promise Erik. Erik, what shall I do without you?"

"Christine, I'm not going anywhere," Erik replied soothingly. "I'm with you wherever you go."

"Yes Erik." Then the couple heard footsteps and they both looked up into the eyes of the _gendarme_. He smiled.

"I'm sorry, _Mademoiselle_, but your five minutes are up."

"Of course, _Monsieur_. _Merci_." She looked at Erik. "Goodbye, my angel." With one last glance at Erik, Christine walked stiffly though to cold stone halls to the sunlight. Squinting her eyes from the light, Christine turned to the man and asked, "When is Erik's trial?"

"Tomorrow, _Mademoiselle_, tomorrow at noon. But only family may watch." The _gendarme_ looked her up and down. "Are you family?"

"_Oui, monsieur_. I am his…wife." Which she was in everything but name.

"Very well _Madame_." Christine noticed the subtle change in titles. "Tomorrow at noon in the courtroom. Enjoy your day." And with a tip of his hat, the _gendarme_ disappeared back into the police station. Christine walked out the doors. She was greeted with the morning rays of sunlight, and a flurry of activity. The Paris market was already full with kiosks and stalls.

Christine crossed the street and walked down _Les Champs d'Élysées. _She walked until she reached the red brick building called '_La Banque_' nestled in between two apartment buildings. Christine rested her hand on the doorknob and took a deep breath. She pushed open the door and was greeted with a whirlwind of disarray. She heard people yelling, bells tinkling, and typewriters typing. Christine crossed the room to the tellers in front of a wall lined with locked boxes. Trying to calm down and keep her nervous rattle out of her voice, Christine stated, "I'd like to open a box, Monsieur."

The teller smiled. "_Certainement, Mademoiselle._ What is the box number?"

'_Okay._' Christine thought. '_Í know this one._' "57." The teller scanned the record sheet. "Ahh...Destler, Erik. Only M. Erik and his wife may open the box. _Désolé Mademoiselle._" The teller started to turn away.

"_Monsieur_!" Christine implored. "I am his wife!" She was breathing heavily. The teller looked shocked. "His wife? Why weren't we informed of this union?" Christine shrugged her shoulders. "It was a small wedding Monsieur, in England. We told no one." '_Time to make this charade look real._' Using her years of acting experience, Christine improvised. She made herself blush, and lowered her eyelashes; for all the demure wife. "My family didn't approve of our union, and so we married in secret in England. We've been in the country for a month, and decided it was time to join society again." Frustrated, Christine clenched her hands, gritted her teeth, and said, "_Monsieur_, my husband is awaiting my return, _with_ the contents of our box. Will you delay me further?"

"Where is your husband, _Madame?_"

"He is busy with our affairs. We must find a house!"

The teller looked sceptical. "Very well¸ _Madame_. And what is the pass code?"

"It's 4931, _Monsieur_."

"Very good, _Madame._ Wait here." The teller abandoned his station at the desk, and walked down the wall of boxes until he arrived at 57. He pulled it out of the wall and set it on the desk. Producing a key out of nowhere, the teller unlocked the box, and opened the lid.

"And what will you be withdrawing today, _Madame_?" Christine fought a gasp. Inside the box lay sparkling jewels, and stacks upon stacks of crisp 500 franc notes. Unable to withstand it, Christine gaped at the box, and cried, "_Oh mon Dieu_!" She stood staring at Erik's riches.

"Is there a problem,_ Madame_?" The teller asked, startling Christine out of her reverie.

"No, _Monsieur_! It's just…I knew my husband was well off, but this is beyond my imagination!" She stared at the jewels again, lost in her own thoughts. '_If I know Erik, more than half of this is stolen!_'

"_Madame_?" The teller was eyeing her worriedly, concerned about the petite woman's strange behaviour. "What will you withdraw?" Christine snapped out of it. "Oh I'm sorry, _Monsieur_. My husband instructed for me to withdraw it all."

"_All_ of it?" One look at Christine's face, and the teller hurriedly corrected his speech. "Very good, _Madame_." As the teller emptied the box's valuable contents into a bag, Christine's mind was reeling. '_I knew Erik was rich, but not this rich! There must at least a million francs in that box!_' She was having a hard time getting her mind around that thought. Still in a daze, Christine accepted the heavy bag. She walked out into the street and finally smiled to herself. She would never beg for money!

She headed towards the realtor office and met with a solicitor. The solicitor showed Christine many houses in the city of Paris, and a couple in the countryside. But only one struck her fancy. It was a small mansion on a lake surrounded by trees. There was a large backyard and front yard. There was a brick path that led up to the red door. Inside it was dusty and dark, with some cleaning and fresh air, it would work. There were two small bedrooms and a master bedroom. There was one bathroom, and the kitchen was airy. The dining room and living rooms were large, and the entrance hall was grand with a spiral staircase leading up to the second floor. From the entrance hall Christine followed a set of stairs that were set off to the side of the entrance hall. Up Christine climbed until she reached a room. The room was medium sized with a large window overlooking the water. A desk stood in the corner, and along the wall was an object covered with a white sheet. Intrigued, Christine pulled back the sheet and gasped. It was a piano! It was carved from a beautiful red oak, and had intricately carved designs all over it. Its ivory keys were dusty, but their radiance shone through the layers of dust and neglect. Slowly, like a vine in her mind, it dawned upon her. This was the music room! Already, Christine could envision the piano cleaned and polished, and the desk covered with scores of original compositions. She could see the violin propped up against the wall in the corner, and her singing by the window with Erik at the piano bench. Without a doubt, Christine knew she would always cherish this house, and knew Erik would too.

Her mind made up, Christine turned to the solicitor and declared, "I'll take it."

Back at the solicitor's office, Christine was busy reading documents, and signing contracts. When it was all over, the solicitor took all the papers, and put them in a file labelled, 'Destler, Christine'. Letting out a sigh, the solicitor opened a drawer in his desk. His hand disappeared into the drawer, then reappeared a moment later holding a brass key. Holding the key out to Christine, the solicitor smiled and said, "_Félicitations Madame_. Enjoy your new home."

Grinning like a crazed woman, Christine exited the office. Hearing the bells of Notre Dame ring twelve times, her face fell. She had to get to the courthouse! She raced over to an awaiting cabby and said, "To the courthouse!" With the snap of the reins, they were off, the rickety wheels bouncing over the cobblestone street.

At last they reached the courthouse. Frantically dumping the contents of her change purse into the lap of the cabdriver, Christine picked up her skirts and ran into the courthouse.

Puffing from the exertion, Christine slowed down her steps as she reached the courtroom. She flung open the doors and looked around. She had entered from the back of the room. It was a large, airy room with a high ceiling, with tall glass windows on two walls. At the head of the room was a high table where the judge sat, and had lower tables scattered around it. In front of the high table were chairs, filled with spectators. Most of them were part of the opera house, the ones who had been terrorized by the Phantom. Others were rich men and their wives trying to find some excitement.

'_I thought only family was allowed to watch,_' thought Christine wryly. '_Oh well._' Christine walked down the aisle to one of the seats in the front. As she walked, every head turned her way, and whispers were exchanged. Christine let out a little sigh of annoyance. There would always be whispers around her. She sat down and waited.

At last the judge appeared and sat in his chair at the high table. He took up his mallet, and pounded it on the desk.

"Order! Order in the court!" he yelled. He nodded towards a nearby _gendarme_. "Bring in the prisoner!"

A creak sounded, and a side door opened. Out came Erik led by another _gendarme_. His hands and feet were bound in chains, and his arms were held fast by the _gendarme_.

Christine raised her head up, and saw others crane their necks to get a view of the elusive Phantom of the Opera. She saw Erik swivel his head around to find her, and when he did, he nodded his head, sat down in his appointed chair, and waited for the judge to speak. He wore no mask. The spectators burst into frightened whispers and moans of disgust when they saw his face.

Again, the mallet sounded, and the courtroom fell silent. "Here sits the man known as the Phantom of the Opera, Erik Destler. You are convicted of murder, blackmail, embezzlement, and arson. How do you plead?"

Erik lifted his head up and spoke clearly. "Guilty, your Honour. I did all those things, and yet it seems that I have not yet paid society back for my earlier beatings."

The judge looked surprised. "Beatings?"

"As a child, my mother abandoned me, left me for the gypsies. A gypsy named Javert imprisoned me, forced me to perform, and when I didn't, I was beaten…your Honour."

"Perform? Perform what?" The judge leaned forward in his chair.

"Singing. Magic. I was their main attraction. I can sing to make the angels weep, and magic a skeleton to dance. My mother hated my voice. She said it was too beautiful, so it must be a gift from the Devil. That was the basis of my orphanage." Erik smiled cynically. "That, among other things." He motioned to his face.

"I see…I assume you escaped from the gypsies, otherwise you would not be here."

"Yes. Javert had tied me up in a cage, like an animal. I extricated myself from the rope, and strangled Javert with it. I persuaded a dog to bring the cage keys to me. I also have a gift with animals."

"It seems you have many talents, and have led many roles in your life. You are not a phantom anymore, nor a sideshow freak. You are stripped of everything you have been. So Erik, what are you now?"

"I am a composer. I am a magician, and a genius, a musician, and an architect."

"You self proclaim…but now for your crimes. Murder, blackmail, arson, extortion…The list is endless! And you plead guilty. It seems we have nothing more to discuss than when you should leave for prison!"

"No!" Without realizing, the word flew out of Christine's mouth. She stood quickly. "You cannot! Apart from all the things Erik has done, he is a good man! He has taught me, guided me, and loved me. For my sake, he saved the man he hates the most, my husband, Raoul de Changy!"

"And you are?" he asked.

"_Madame_ de Changy, the former _Mademoiselle _Daae. Last night, Erik saved Raoul from a burning building, to calm me! Why would he do that if he was a cold blooded murderer?"

The judge turned towards Erik. "You failed to mention that." Erik looked down. "Is Monsieur de Changy present?"

A throat cleared. "I am here, your honour." All heads turned to Raoul. He stood up.

"Is it true, what your wife has said?"

Raoul looked torn between putting the Phantom in prison, and easing his wife's consciousness. At last, he sighed. "Yes, it's true. I-" he looked sick. "I would like to drop all charges against _Monsieur_ Destler. He has saved my life, and that of my wife's, and I believe he means me, and everyone in Paris, no harm. Release him; he is not the man you all think he is." Raoul looked like the life had been sapped out of him. He sat down.

The judge's eyes widened in disbelief, as did everyone else's. "Drop the charges?"

"Yes, your Honour. Drop all charges pertaining to Erik Destler, and let us be on about our days."

"_Monsieur_-"

"Just do it!" Raoul yelled as he stormed out of the courtroom, leaving a trail of whispers behind him.

The judge was miffed. Sighing, he struck his mallet to the table and yelled, "Order in the court!" The talking halted.

"In light of recent information, all charges against Erik Destler, also known as the Phantom of the Opera, shall be dropped. However," he gazed sternly at a shocked Erik, "_However_, if I find out that you have so much as forgotten to pay a _bill_, our next meeting won't be as happy for you. Go, find yourself a job, and live a normal life. I never want to hear your name again. Release him." he instructed the _gendarmes_. And he stepped down from the high table.

Christine stood stalk still. She couldn't believe it. Erik had gotten off! After everything he'd done, it was _Raoul_ who had saved him! She couldn't move. The crowd looked disappointed, and they started to disperse. At last, the courtroom was empty, save for two people, a woman and a man, both of whom were staring at nothing. Finally, the latter coughed, and Christine snapped back to reality.

"Erik!" She ran over to him. She grabbed his face with her hands and said, "Are you alright?" At first, he didn't answer, he was staring into her eyes like nothing else existed. Then, a slow smiled stole over his mouth, and he replied, "Never better." And they kissed.

**Two Weeks Later**

"Well, it's done!" Christine beamed happily at Erik. "My marriage with Raoul has been annulled. I'm free." Erik smiled at her, and kissed her hand "I am overjoyed. But now, you must show me this house of ours." Christine's eyes widened and she grabbed his hand as she towed him out the door. "Come on!"

Eighty-five francs later, they arrived at the mansion on the lake. Christine reached into her pocket, and procured a handkerchief. She grinned. "Turn around Erik." Erik cocked an eyebrow. "What are you doing?" he asked suspiciously. "It's a surprise. Now shh." She tied the handkerchief around his eyes, took his hand, and led him through the front door. She opened the side door, and said, "Watch your step," as she escorted him up the stairs. At last they reached the music room. Before she removed his blindfold, she wanted to survey the room one last time. Christine had come in a day earlier with a couple of maids, and had cleaned up the house. While they had worked on the kitchen and other rooms, Christine had stayed up cleaning the music room. She had polished the piano, put up new curtains, and dusted everywhere. She had swept and scrubbed the floor until the hardwood floor sparkled, and took a broom to all the spider webs in the corners. The room was spectacular.

"Alright." Christine led Erik to the middle of the room, and untied the handkerchief. As soon as Erik's mind registered the piano, and that this was a music room, his eyes lit up like lights. He stood with his mouth open, taking it all in. Eventually, he attempted speech.

"How-? What-? Chris-?" He gave up, and settled with picking her up and twirling her around. When he set her back down on the floor, Christine looked up at him, and grinned. "Like it?" He growled.

**A Couple Days Later**

'_Ah! Je ris de me voir  
Si belle en ce miroir!...  
Est-ce toi, Marguerite?  
Réponds-moi, réponds vite!  
Non! Non! -- ce n'est plus toi!  
Ce n'est plus ton visage!  
C'est la fille d'un roi,  
Qu'on salue au passage!  
__Ah! S'il était ici!'_

They were singing. Erik was playing at the piano, jotting down notes and chords, while Christine stood at the window singing.

"Bravissima,_ mon ange_! That was perfect!" Erik complimented.

"Thank you Erik. Can we stop now, please? My voice needs a rest."

"Of course!" He got up from the piano, and beckoned towards her. "Let's go to the lake."

"What a lovely idea! Just a moment." Christine hurried down the stairs and fetched a sunhat. "All ready. Let's go!" Walking down the path that led from their house to the lake with their hands entwined, they talked, and laughed together. They reached the shore of the lake, and sat down on the green grass. Erik sat down, resting his weight on his hands, while Christine laid down with her head in Erik's lap.

"Don't you wish we could stay like this forever? Out in the sun, with the birds trilling their song, and the waves rushing upon the shore…you and me, together, with just our music...it's perfect."

"Mmm…" Erik murmured. They stayed like that for a couple minutes before Erik started to hum. Christine sat up, and hummed along with him as she leaned against him.

Slowly Suddenly, Erik's humming turned into singing softly into her ear.

'_Say you'll share with me _

_One love, one lifetime'_

Christine stared at him, remembering that last time he had sung those words to her…

'_Lead me, save me from my solitude_

_Say you want me with you here beside you…'_

She felt him reach into his pocket for something…

'_Anywhere you go, let me go too_

_Christine, that's all I ask of-_'

When he said her name, Erik had waved his hand with a flourish, produced a small navy blue box, and opened it. Inside lay a sparkling diamond ring. The reason he didn't finish his song this time was because this time, Christine had kissed him in reply. When they were done, Christine looked into his eyes, and sang,

'_I'll help you make the music of the night!_'

**Thank you for reading my story. Please review, it really helps with my writing ability. Constructive criticism is welcome. **

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